


Third Wheel

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The perils of being good mates with a popstar whose boyfriend is jealous and quite frankly a bit weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Wheel

The thing is, he's sort of been expecting it.  Like, obviously he hasn't gone round saying, "You know, I think tonight's the night Louis Tomlinson is going to make Harry Styles have an orgasm right in front of me as some kind of territorial claiming ritual," but he's had a feeling something was coming.  Nick's spent enough time with Harry to know how he is about Louis and it's obviously completely healthy, _not at all_ scary as hell.  Nick doesn't know Louis as well, but even through Harry's obsessive teenaged madly-in-love filter, he comes across as exactly as unhinged as Harry is.   
  
"What time do you call this then, you slag," Nick will say when Harry shows up late for a lark with dark circles under his eyes, clearly unshowered, and purple marks on his neck he hasn't bothered to cover up.  
  
"Sorry," Harry will say sheepishly with his slow smile, looking so happy and well-fucked and good the way only an eighteen-year-old can look after he's been up all night shagging.  
  
"You honestly disgust me," Nick will say, and Harry will laugh because he knows what Nick really means is that one, it's been a while since he's had sex, and two, he's noticed Harry shows up with love bites when he's been spending a lot of extra time with Nick, QE fucking D, Louis Tomlinson makes the word "jealous" seem light and adorable, fluffy even.  
  
He'd never gone round the flat Harry shared with Louis much, preferring to hang out with him alone.  The problem is, he thinks Louis is actually sort of a twat.  It's not a secret; Harry invites him over all the time and Nick says he gets enough of high-maintenance divas at work, thank you very much.  Harry wants them to be friends quite badly and always says Louis will be lovely once Nick gets to know him, but Louis prowls around Harry like a smug cat whenever Nick is in the room.  Nick could tell him he's got no designs on Harry, but he knows that's not what matters.  What matters is that Nick gets a part of Harry that Louis doesn't.   
  
So really he should have known there would come a time when Louis would take action – not like a reasonable person, but like an obsessive, bossy teenager with Harry Styles as his boyfriend.  He can't even fault Louis really, because perhaps at his age, Nick might have done the same thing.  
  
It begins with Harry ringing him with a dinner invitation.  
  
"Please come," he says.  "You haven't even seen the new house and Louis asked me to invite you."  
  
He doesn't really know why they need a house.  They're eighteen and twenty and they travel nine months out of the year.  If it were him he'd have stuck with their ridiculously huge flat and sublet it, but he's not part of a pop star couple with twenty cars between them or whatever.  And he knows, despite Harry's active night life, that there's something solid and family-like about him and Louis.  When he's on the piss Harry admits he wants to be married.  He knows it's silly – his cheeks turn pink and he looks downcast and wobbly-lipped because he's only eighteen years old and it's stupid to think about marriage now – but he wants to be older, wants to have a wedding, and when they've got good and sick of touring he wants a family.  Nick teases him because he's such a sweet domestic thing, little hipster Harry with a trail of broken marriages and one-night stands supposedly behind him, when all he really wants is to put a ring on it and pop out a football team's worth of curly-haired sproggen with his Peter Pan twink of a boyfriend.  Nick's not sure he wants to see Harry in that domestic sphere, cooking for them and being A Proper Good Host.  His Harry is wilder than that.   
  
"Come on, I'll make your favourite," Harry says.  
  
"I don't have a favourite," he says, just to be difficult.  "Favourites are for three-year-olds and/or your bandmates."  
  
"You do too have a favourite, you order the chicken parm no matter where we go."  
  
"Do you even know how to make that, child Harold?"  
  
"Of course I do!" Harry exclaims, and he's so offended at the slight to his cooking skills that Nick almost asks him if he needs to borrow any pots and pans.   
  
So they settle on Saturday evening, and Harry seems so pleased Nick almost doesn't have the heart to tease him about his suburban fantasy life.  
  
He shows up with bread, which he thrusts into Harry's hands.  "For the potluuuuuuck," he says.  
  
"Shut up," Harry laughs, and goes looking for the beer he knows Nick's really brought.  
  
Louis is in the kitchen, stirring something, a frown on his face.  "I don't know what it's supposed to be doing," he says, wrinkling his nose.  
  
"Exactly what it's doing," Harry says indulgently, taking over with a kiss behind Louis's ear.   
  
Louis smiles at Harry like he's done something marvelous and Nick likes him for a moment.  Then he turns to Nick and says, "FIFA?"  
  
"Nah, I'm crap," Nick says.   
  
"Figured as much," Louis says with a careless little shrug, and Nick casts a long-suffering look at Harry, who smiles guilelessly.  Anything Louis does is all right with him, of course.  
  
Dinner is actually not terrible.  Harry's a decent cook and Louis makes a noticeable effort to pay attention and asks Nick questions about the new job, and nobody starts any food fights (though he suspects they are all sorely tempted, and Harry and Louis only hold back because they know they'll have to clean it up themselves).  Harry looks happier than Nick has ever seen him and it's disconcerting, actually, because while it's good to know Harry's got someone around who makes him absolutely glow with pleasure, it's also strange to know Harry can be like this.  The Harry he sees is affectionate and open and genuine, but not given to bursts of adoration, and this Harry who looks like he's just barely restraining himself from curling up in Louis's lap is plain weird to watch.  Nick's got an entire spreadsheet of commentary on how uncool Harry is by the time Harry starts clearing the table.  
  
"I'll help," Louis says chirpily.  
  
Harry narrows his eyes and Nick knows this isn't a common occurrence – that none of this dinner is a common occurrence, and he wonders again what Louis is up to.  "Don't break the potato bowl again," is all Harry says, though.  
  
"I'm trying to wrap my head round the fact you have a bowl only for potatoes," Nick says.  
  
"It's a mystery to me as well," Louis says.  "We have a bowl for everything.  Someday he's going to need a second kitchen just to hold all the bowls."  
  
"I don't want bits of potato mixing with my popcorn, that's disgusting," says Harry, disembodied as he wanders from the room.  
  
"We have an industrial-strength dish washer _and_ a housekeeper," Louis says exasperatedly, following with an armful of dishes and leaving Nick alone in the dining area.   
  
After a minute or two of silence, he pulls out his phone and checks his messages, his email, his twitter.  By the time he's scrolled back to the last tweet he remembers reading, he realises he's been alone in the room for almost ten minutes, and thinks possibly he should go find them, or at least pretend to help with the clearing up.   
  
It's quite interesting, he thinks later, because even though he's been expecting funny business all evening, he's still taken aback when he walks into the kitchen and Louis has Harry backed up against the wall, trousers open, cock out.  Louis is down on his knees in front of him, sucking at a measured pace before pulling off every few strokes.  Harry's thighs are shaking, Nick notices, calm in shock, and his cock is glistening wet from Louis's mouth.  Harry watches Louis, chest heaving, before he apparently can't take the sight any longer and puts his hands over his face with a trembling gasp.  
  
And the thing is, Nick has always been able to objectively appreciate how attractive Harry is without really going too far with it, because it's easy to just tease him about his pretty curls and his pink-cheeked kitten face, and keep a distance from it all.  He's fun to be with in his own right, and Nick has always sort of viewed him as a protégé rather than a possible sex partner.  He's only just a baby, after all, a baby who is utterly uninterested sexually in anyone except Louis Tomlinson, no matter how big a flirt he is and how much he likes to be admired.  Harry's fallen asleep naked at Nick's flat a dozen times, maybe more, and he quite likes to take his willy out and press it on things.  Nick is quite proud of himself because although he might have sighed over his lost eighteenth year a time or two, he's never felt _that_ – that zing that would make him really want to fuck Harry, rather than just a sort of vague idea that if there were no Louis he'd probably have at least tried to get into Harry's pants once, if only to try him on for size.   
  
But now, faced with Harry in the middle of being absolutely taken apart by his boyfriend's tongue, he can imagine, with unfortunate clarity, taking Harry to bed.   
  
"He's gonna _hear_ , Lou," Harry moans, muffled by his hands.  "I can't – he's gonna– "  
  
"Then he'll know what a good boy you are, won't he," Louis says, and suddenly turns his head just enough that he's looking straight at Nick, smirking.  He keeps their eyes locked as he opens his mouth and slides it over Harry's cock, which looks so big and swollen Nick's amazed he's not gone off yet.  When Nick was eighteen it was a sure bet if a mouth came near his dick he was going to come instantly, but maybe (and this thought sticks in his mind perhaps more than it should), maybe Louis's trained him to hold off.  
  
Nick raises his eyebrows at Louis and leans against the refrigerator with his arms crossed over his chest.  _I'm not impressed with you_ , is what he hopes his posture is saying.  _I'm a pervert_ , is what it's probably saying instead.  Louis pulls his mouth off Harry and smiles, naughty and sly, and Nick's never thought about having sex with Louis either, but suddenly he's thinking this is a boy who wants his arse smacked and obviously Harry isn't going to do it.  
  
"Lou, Lou, Lou," Harry breathes, writhing frantically against the wall, "let me come, please _please_ let me come, it's been ages."  
  
"Do you think you deserve it?" Louis asks.  
  
" _Yes_ ," Harry says, too loud, urgent.  "I've been good, I'm a good boy, I promise."  
  
His voice is cracking all over, and he's so desperate he sounds like he might cry.  Nick objectively has to give Louis Tomlinson props because it's hard to give a toppy blowjob but he's managing it admirably.  There's no doubt he's in charge.  Nick wonders how many days Louis has been teasing him, to get him to this point.    
  
"I shouldn't let you at all," Louis says, tonguing at Harry's balls in between his words.  Harry melts into it, thighs shaking hard.  "I should make you go back out there with your cock all fat and stiff."  
  
"Please," Harry sobs, hands in his own hair, pulling, "please don't, I can't.  He's gonna _know_."  
  
"Pretty sure he already does, love," Louis says.  
  
Harry's eyes open fast.  When he sees Nick he goes pink in a wave all the way down his neck and opens his mouth, to protest Nick assumes, but all that comes out is a noise that's half hiccup, half gasp.  His knees wobble and Louis holds him up, and suddenly he goes tense all over and Nick thinks he's definitely going to come, whether Louis's mouth is on him or not.  He arches and Louis rubs his thigh reassuringly until, to Nick's amazement, he calms again.  
  
"He hasn't got very good control," Louis tells Nick conversationally.  "Why don't you help him out a bit and hold him down."  
  
Nick watches narrowly and it hits him, then, that Louis isn't just staking his claim, not just taking jealousy to its logical, psychotic next level.  He's allowing Nick into their world the only way he knows how: by taking charge.  How many people, Nick wonders, have been welcomed into the strange life of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in this fashion?  He hopes he's the only one, but thinks it would be quite funny if there were just a procession of people who allowed Louis to boss them around for a chance at being good mates with Harry.  
  
It's touch and go for a few moments whether he'll do as Louis says or just stand and leave.  He doesn't think Louis would force Harry not to be friends with him if he left, of course; they're both crazy, but not _creepy_ crazy.  But he's split down the middle.  Half of him wants to go to Harry and cradle his stupid curly head, and be part of a mad sexcapade with him.  The other half doesn't like to be bossed by any fucking body and especially not this tiny fucking stripey pop star.  In the end, his desire to give Harry what he needs wins out, and he compromises by walking across the kitchen at his own pace and giving Louis a fuck-off look as he nudges Harry forward, slides in behind him, digs his fingers into Harry's arms above the elbows and holds him firm.  Harry responds not by struggling, but by reaching down to grip Nick's jeans at the thighs and relaxing against him, and Nick understands why Louis loves Harry so much – it's rare to find someone who reacts to dominance like this, sweet and trusting and responsive.  It makes Nick feel like he loves Harry a bit too, because Harry trusts him enough to put himself entirely in Nick's hands.  
  
Louis watches from below, eyes unreadable.  He's still sucking Harry off slow as molasses, taking his time.  Harry whimpers, breath catching, and Nick holds him a little tighter and nuzzles into the curls behind his ear.  "But you're doing so well, aren't you sweetheart," he murmurs.  "Just relax and let him take care of you."  
  
Louis slides his mouth off of Harry.  "Us," he says firmly.  "Let _us_ take care of you."  
  
And Nick feels absurdly pleased all of a sudden, and angry with himself for it because who cares if Louis includes him in this?  But the inclusion feels good.  He supposes that's a talent Louis possesses, being able to make people around him feel as if they're part of something much more fun than anybody else is doing.  
  
"Does it feel good?" he asks Harry, watching Louis's mouth, the long sucks that make Nick shiver a bit at the sense memory of suction on his cock.  
  
"Really, _really_ good," Harry says.  If his voice was deep and slow before, it's almost entering Barry White territory now, and Nick makes a note to tease him later about it.  But in the moment it's sexier than it has any right to be, because he's gagging for it and Nick thinks _this is what he sounds like when he's being fucked_ , and that's an unfair thing for him to have to know.  
  
"Did he make you wait?" he whispers.  Harry nods, and his breath hitches as Louis pulls away again.  
  
"Touch him," Louis says, and he manages to make it sound less like an order and more like a suggestion, but Nick still bristles at it.  He thinks, however, that he may be in too deep to get into an argument about who's in charge, so he simply lets go Harry's arms and slides one hand under Harry's t-shirt to stroke his stomach.  Harry leans harder against him and Nick doesn't kiss his ear – it feels weirder, somehow, than anything else – but he strokes his hair and soothes him a bit, and Harry's tension slackens.  
  
"Ssh," he murmurs inanely.  Suddenly there's a hand on his, and he realises it's Louis tugging it down, down Harry's stomach, until his fingertips are just touching Harry's cock.  His eyes are half-lidded; he's quite pretty, really, and Nick sees he's got his jeans open and is stroking himself, hand working over his own cock at exactly the pace he's sucking on Harry's.  It looks as if he really very much enjoys sucking cock, Nick thinks, and that's a bit of a punch in the stomach.  Without thinking about it he traces his thumb over Louis's lips, and when Louis looks up at him his eyes are dark and glassy; he looks aroused like nothing Nick's ever seen.  _Oh, I could have fun with you_ , Nick thinks, and then Harry's glancing down as well.  
  
"Oh, god," he cries, voice breaking, tensing up again.  His hips start to move out of control.  
  
"Put your hand over his mouth," Louis says, licking his lips.  His voice is shaking a bit.  His hand is tight at the base of his cock and Nick thinks he's about to come too.  "He likes that."  
  
He goes back to sucking and Harry cries out again before Nick covers his mouth.  Louis moves as if he's going to pull off again but Nick, making an executive decision because he feels like it's time someone did it, cups the back of his head and keeps him there.  Louis glares up at him for just a moment before he suddenly stops, closes his eyes, and shudders in slow pulses, choking a little around Harry's cock and moaning at the same time.  Nick loosens his grip and strokes through Louis's hair instead, and when he's recovered Louis begins to suck obediently without pulling away.  Harry's breath on Nick's palm speeds up again and he twists in his arms, coiling tighter and tighter with his fingers winding hard in Nick's jeans, until Nick has to hold him in place with an arm across his belly.  That gets him, and he freezes, going taut all over.  
  
"There you go," Nick says, and Louis pulls off a final time, but only to stroke Harry through it.  He bites his lip and looks up at Nick, and Nick knows Louis wants him to see Harry come.  Harry's loud, even muffled by Nick's hand, and he comes messy all over Louis's hand and on his shirt.  He writhes all over, even with Nick holding him in place, and then gradually goes limp against him in stages, breathing in loud sobbing gasps.   
  
Nick takes his hand away from Harry's mouth just as Louis stands up.  He strokes Harry's hair away from his face and pets him in small ways, sorting him out as Harry, trembling, is overwhelmed and useless.  In a way it's quite lovely to watch because for the first time Nick can see how Louis's face mirrors Harry's absolute adoration, and he leans his forehead on Harry's for a moment before he kisses the tip of his nose.  But it's also awkward as fucking anything and Nick really wants to leave because he thinks he may have gone well beyond a fifth wheel and into a twentieth or fortieth.  
  
"Soooooo," he says, sliding carefully from behind Harry.  His shirt is damp with sweat from the heat of Harry's body and he really needs to be off so he can find someone to have sex with tonight, or he's going to go mad.  And he's going to take the beer he brought with him, he thinks, because neither of them deserve it.  
  
"Hold on then," Louis says.  "Where are you going?"  He's got his brass back up again, one arm around Harry's waist, head tucked into the hollow of Harry's neck.  Harry's barely functional, but he's recovered enough to nod and point emphatically.  
  
"Yeah, thanks for the weird sex experience and all," Nick says, "but this is when the extra dick usually clears out, just so you know."  
  
"Did you think we'd leave you like that?" Louis says.  The two of them look like sleepy animals about to pounce on prey, circling around him.  Or maybe they look like Satan's Lolita assistants, waiting to drag him to hell.  Nick can't decide.  
  
"He thinks we're rude, Lou," Harry says sadly.  He'll be on vocal rest tomorrow, Nick's certain of it.  He sounds like he's been smoking all day.  
  
"I think you're lunatics is what you are."  Nick flattens against the wall as they both move a bit closer to him, wondering when being propositioned by teenagers started to make him feel old and slightly pathetic.  
  
Louis shakes his head.  "And here poor Harry made trifle, and wanted you to spank him."  
  
Nick almost chokes on something.  Air, probably.  Harry nods with his lower lip slightly pushed out and Louis pats him consolingly on the shoulder.  Every man has his limit.  Nick Grimshaw has just discovered his.  
  
"Er," he says.  
  
"I had this daddy thing I wanted to try because you're bigger than I am," Harry says, as tragically big-eyed as if Nick's just told him there will never be a Christmas again.  
  
"Oh fucking hell," he says, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand, and they both take it for exactly what it is: his flimsy morals flying out the window along with all his clothes.  Louis gives him a wink and Harry wiggles like a happy little cat about to attack, and as they descend Nick's last thought is that he's never going to be able to tell this story because he'll owe all his friends too much money.


End file.
